Machinations
"So...will you do it?"
Sarah didn't answer, thrusting her new knife into a piece of meat she'd convinced Shelbie Chase to surrender for...practice. Mr. Corbett stood behind her, fidgeting, his discomfort growing in her silence.
Just a few short months ago the adults used her—tricked her over and over to get what they wanted, with no concern for her safety, rewarding her with things like apples, all the while giving her extra chores. Now they came to her when they wanted something done right.
How the tables had turned.
Sarah thrust the knife hilt-deep into the meat, the way Gage taught her. The ugly, one-eyed raider surprised her with that act of kindness—if it could even be called that. She had no doubt he gained from it in some way, even if she couldn't say what, but it didn't matter. Now she had a knife and the means to use it. Gage might regret that one day.
"Sarah?" Mr. Corbett tried again.
Sarah pulled the knife free and wiped the blade on her pants, before sheathing and pulling her top over it. The confidence her weapon brought was staggering—she had the world at her hip, and she'd use it on anyone who crossed her. Gage's warning about being careful and choosing her moments was in the back of her mind somewhere, wilfully ignored. What did he know about caution? He killed people all the time. He killed Oswald.
Sarah finally looked at Mr. Corbett and shrugged. "So you want me to go steal something for you, yeah?"
Mr. Corbett nodded. "For...for the collars."
"Why?"
"Pardon?" He seemed genuinely surprised by the question.
"Why?" Sarah repeated, staring at him. "Why should I? It's dangerous in there and Chip's already working on the collars. If I'm gonna do this, tell me why. I'm not going along with what you say anymore just because I'm a kid."
"I...you…" Mr. Corbett spluttered, red in the face.
Sarah held her ground, glaring at him. "Like I said, I'm a kid. And you're sending me to steal from the gangs. You know what will happen if I get caught." She remembered Oswald's words, his anger that they would let a child do their dirty work. "Am I not as important because I'm a ghoul?"
"No!" He looked horrified at the mere suggestion. "It's because you have a talent for getting into places you shouldn't. I've overheard you telling Mackenzie about your trips to the powerplant." Sarah smiled at the grudging note of pride in his voice. "And you are good at not being found. That's what I'm banking on. If there was another choice, I'd send an adult. But there isn't. So I'm asking you."
"But why do I have to go in the first place? I thought Chip knew what he was doing."
"The collars...not all of them are Shank's design. Some of them are from the Disciples; others the Operators. A couple from the Pack. All of them have different ways of working—I don't know exactly how—that's Chip's department. I just know we need one of each so Chip can take them apart and find out how to deactivate them. We have the Pack and the Operators. We just need…"
"The Disciples'," Sarah finished for him, nodding. Fizztop Mountain wasn't her favourite place, but if it meant freeing the others, she'd brave it. She just didn't want Mr. Corbett using her anymore. The sooner he understood that, the better. "Okay, I'll go. You can get me some Dandy Boy Apples for when I come back."
"Wait, that's it?"
"Yup." Sarah towards the door, smiling brightly at him.
"Deal," Mr. Corbett said in a faint voice, as if he wasn't quite sure what just happened.
The sun was low in the sky as Sarah stepped out into the marketplace, throwing the stalls and pools of vomit in a rich orange light. She pulled a face at the mess, knowing full well if she was still on cleanup duty, the ground would be spotless. Whatever. That was Mr. Corbett's problem, not hers. She had more fun things to do.
Jack had dropped in and out of contact, organising things with the traders and, to her immense gratitude, keeping Sarah in the loop.
Would she be angry to know where Mr. Corbett had sent her?
Well, what Jack didn't know wouldn't hurt her. The things once frightening to Sarah were now presented as a challenge—obstacles to overcome, tests to be completed. She'd proved this by scouting her way around the powerplant, filling her free time exploring twisting tunnels and dodging roaming wild animals. She felt invincible at her newfound power, this freedom kept away from her for so long. The Disciples wouldn't catch her. No one ever did.
The smell caught Sarah off guard. It wasn't quite the level of Mad Mulligan's Mine, but it was pretty close. Her eyes watered, every memory of her previous visit rushing back like a charging super mutant. The bodies, the blood; the meat nailed to the walls. How they could bear to live in here, Sarah didn't know.
She made her way inside the same as last time, though it was a tighter squeeze with her new belt, knife, and what she suspected were a few more inches to her height. It had been well over a month or two since she'd last visited. The artificial walls of the makeshift tunnel snagged at her clothes and rasped her skin, but she pushed on, her mind set on her task. According to Mr. Corbett, Nisha would likely keep her collar stash in her own quarters, at the top of the Disciples' lair. Jack had given that information to Mr. Corbett, but how Jack knew was beyond Sarah. Still, it was as good a place to start as any.
Sarah wriggled her way through to the other side, finally getting used to the stink, and slid out into an abandoned corridor, letting her eyes flick through the darkness. The bodies on the walls had increased, though where they'd come from, she wasn't quite sure. Hopefully they were just other raiders, but it was hard to tell with the heads missing.
Pushing this gruesome thought out of her mind—and trying not to recall if any of the traders had disappeared recently—Sarah flitted around the edges, slinking along the metal ramp to the upper levels. A Disciple was standing halfway up it, leaning against the handrail next to a makeshift fire, and Sarah froze. With those masks, it was impossible to say where the raider was looking, or if she'd seen her at all.
"I hear Nisha is after Gage's head."
Sarah glanced across the cavernous room, spotting two men talking over a game of cards, a severed human arm at their feet. One of the men placed a card down carefully and sighed, shaking his head. "Damn. Shit deal."
The other chuckled, picking what looked like a hand and throwing it down next to the arm. "Again?"
"Man, I only got a few ears left."
"Well, get Gage for Nisha and you'll have plenty."
"Nah. She wants his skin for herself, remember? Can't damage the goods." He paused. "Fine. Last of my ears."
"Heh. Knew you'd cave." The Disciple reached down, scooping up a bundle of fingers and dropping them on the table, before drawing in the cards and shuffling the deck. As he dealt, he said, "I thought Nisha would want to go after the Overboss, y'know?"
"I mean, that is the plan. The way she's been disrespecting Nisha an' all. But she wants Gage more. Boss Nova is an unlucky asshole who got dragged into this—you know Gage is the reason we're all stuck here. The Overboss is just insult to injury."
Sarah's attention suddenly snapped back to the raider on the ramp as she sighed, stretching her arms and standing up properly. She warmed her hands against the fire for a moment and then started walking down towards Sarah.
Sarah's heart jumped into her throat—there was nowhere to go without being seen. She drew her knife, trembling as she held it tight in her grip. It was all well and good practising on a hunk of meat, but the real thing? Even if they were a Disciple, the thought of taking control of someone's life, driving a sharpened piece of metal into their chest, snuffing their existence out...it was too much. Sarah shook on the spot as the raider drew nearer and nearer, and she waited, seconds from being discovered. Her eyes were drawn to the bodies on the far wall and she sensed her impending fate.
"Hey, Molly, get over here," someone called from above.
Molly the raider looked up, shook her head, then silently turned and walked back up the ramp. Sarah quickly followed, letting out a quiet, trembling breath as she skirted past the firelight and melted back into the shadows. This was the last place she wanted to be, but she had to get to Nisha's room.
The ramp levelled out, but Sarah hesitated, watching Molly walk over to another ramp going up and out of sight. She crept forward, listening carefully to the heavy footsteps above as she inched her way to the next level. When Molly came into view again, Sarah stopped, feeling sick. There were several cages lining the walls, with blood smeared all over the floor. It reminded her of the times she'd seen animals slaughtered for food in the Slog, and she remembered the stories of the Disciples and what they did to their prey. Sarah shivered, watching as Molly approached the other raider.
"What is it, Grace?" Molly said quietly, as if speaking to her fellow gang member required an indecent amount of effort.
"Looks like one of them is still alive," Grace said, nudging the occupant in the nearest cell. "Last survivor. You know what Nisha wants."
"Ah." Molly made a strange noise in the back of her throat and drew her knife. "It's my turn. You promised."
"I did," replied Grace, sounding slightly put out. Then she smiled. "I keep my promises."
The two raiders turned to face the cell and Sarah slipped past them, not wanting to hear what happened next—but their victim's pleas for mercy carried, echoing through the whole structure. They started small: breathy whimpers of denial, followed by stronger promises of riches, power, chems—anything Molly wanted. Then finally all he could say was, "No," increasing in volume until he was screaming it. By the time Sarah made it to the entrance of Nisha's room the words were gone, replaced by shrieks of agony.
She felt sick.
All at once, the seriousness of her predicament hit her. This wasn't a game. She wasn't here to test her skills and push herself to the limit. She was here to get in, grab what she needed, and get out. Else she'd end up like the man just around the corner, peeled for entertainment.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
What would Gage think of her, taking such pointless risks? This surprised her—she'd never much cared about anything he had to say, and yet he'd managed to stay alive on his own since the age of twelve. Maybe she could do with taking a leaf out of Gage's book.
Sarah blinked away tears as the screaming below rose in pitch and volume, mingling with a wet, ripping noise and the sound of vomit.
"Is he dead?" There was a beat of silence. "No. Passed out."
"I'm not even at the torso yet. Pathetic."
Sarah was shaking now, the old terror clawing at her chest. There were worse things than death, and trapped in this hellhole, surrounded by stink and blood and rot, this had to be one of them. Forgetting all calm, all sense of caution, Sarah finally ran inside Nisha's small, dimly lit room and began tearing through drawers, boxes, and shelves, looking for the collar. The man would wake soon and she couldn't stay here listening to it for another moment. She just couldn't.
There was a glint of metal, and Sarah unearthed her prize. It was worn and heavy, bundled with several more. The one would do. Looping the collar around her arm, she took deep, disgusting breaths of rancid air, steadying herself, and then quickly tidied up Nisha's room as best she could. No time for anything else.
Sarah made it halfway back to the ramp when the man woke up. She took one look at him and nearly fainted. His skin was...loose. Hanging off his limbs like clothes neatly slit open, except underneath was red, wet flesh, freshly flensed. Sarah jammed her fist in her mouth to stop herself shrieking with terror and clung to the railings, swaying dangerously.
She turned from the sounds, staring down into the open space below, and then her mouth fell open. Jack was being pulled into the room by two Disciples, one on each arm, swearing and cursing as she went. Had they discovered she was trying to free the slaves? Sarah cast a fearful look towards the man being tortured by Molly and Grace, and saw Grace turn to walk towards the ramp.
Sarah threw caution to the wind, scurrying down the ramp and doubling back on herself, crawling beneath it. No one would see her unless they knew where to look, and from where she was hidden, she had an almost perfect view of the commotion below. A full view if she leaned forward a little bit. The ramp started to shake as someone who she assumed was Grace began to stomp down to the lower levels to see what was happening. Sarah bit her lip then looked back down to Jack in time to see another raider wearing a distinctive, banded mask bounce into the fray with mirth.
"Well, look who it is!" crowed Dixie, her voice dancing in its usual twang. "Little old Jack, come to play!"
Jack pulled her arms free and snarled to the raiders at her side, "Grab me again and I'll pluck your eyes out and stuff them down your throat."
"She's got teeth yet! But so have I, and mine are sharper."
"Only than your wit, which isn't saying much."
Dixie drew her knife free in a flash, but Jack held her ground. Sarah felt a stab of respect. The rumours about Dixie were wild and bloody—a raider as dangerous as she was crazy—her love of violence set her apart. The traders told stories about her: the monster who cut people up, took trophies, washed herself in people's blood. And all of it hidden behind a bright and cheerful disposition.
"Ah ah ah," said Jack, mimicking Dixie's singsong voice. "Don't forget the rule."
"Ain't no one here to witness it, sugar," Dixie snapped. She inched forward, pushing the tip of her blade against Jack's collarbone and slowly pushing hard on it. "Jus' you an' me."
"And everyone else. Nisha will kill any who break the rule, and you ain't fool enough to cross her. So unless you trust no one will tell, fuck off." Jack smacked the knife away so hard the blade ripped her shirt. "Besides, I'm useful to Nisha and you know it. She won't be happy if you kill me."
"Ain't nothin' wrong with a bit of cuttin'," Dixie said breathlessly but put her knife away and stepped back.
"Try that shit again and I'll triple the prices for the Disciples and let everyone know you're the reason they're out of pocket." Hisses filled the arena like angry deathclaws, and Jack opened her arms wide, turning to view all sides of the crowd. "I told you assholes from the beginning: fuck with me and you don't fuck. There's plenty of bodies to pick from if you get desperate, mind."
Molly started up on her victim again, his screams drowning out the discussion below. Was this what awaited Gage when Nisha decided she'd had enough? Sarah knew the Disciples tortured people, skinned them, but she'd never really grasped what a horrific death it would be. Her resolve to help Jack wavered.
"Kill it!" came a sharp voice from somewhere directly below her.
There was a thud, a gurgling scream, and thrashing sounds, before...silence. The ramp shook again as Molly made her way down after Grace. Sarah stayed where she was, petrified. She could picture the dead man's face clearly in her mind, contorted with pain, and God she couldn't move.
"Long time no see." This time in the quiet, Sarah recognised the speaker as Nisha. Would she notice her possessions had been disturbed? Despite herself, Sarah shuffled forward and peered over the edge again to see the Disciple Queen sizing up Jack. Nisha studied her for a moment longer and then said, "Hold her."
Grace jumped at the chance, seizing Jack's arm and dragging her forward, out of Sarah's sight. There was a scuffle, a yell of pain, and a thud as someone hit the floor.
Trying not to breathe too loud, Sarah inched forward a little more and saw the raider called Grace flat on her back, her helmet spinning slowly on the spot next to her, while Jack stood with her fist raised. "I warned you. Count yourself lucky you have your eyes."
The drawing of knives rippled through the crowd, but Nisha raised a hand and they stopped, sheathed with a collective reluctance. She turned to them, silent for a heartbeat, and then snapped, "All of you out. Now."
The Disciples left without argument. Nisha clearly felt confident in her ability to handle Jack, because she waited until they were alone before speaking. "Dangerous move, Jacqueline."
"I'm a dangerous woman." Jack lowered her fist and turned her head to Nisha without a trace of fear. Nisha laughed.
"But you are just one woman." She circled Jack, taking her own blade out slowly and running the tip along the back of her prey's neck. "And you know which way the tide is turning. Did you do as I asked?"
"I've been keeping an eye on them, yes."
"Kind of you not to mention anything to the boss or her little pets."
Jack shrugged. "What good would it do? I don't stand with anyone but myself."
"Stand with us then," Nisha said, coming back around to face Jack. "Nuka World deserves the strongest and I am the strongest. But information is key after all. Be smart. Continue being my eyes and ears on the other gangs and our dear leader, and when I make my move, I will ensure you are kept out of the way. You and your people will be safe."
Jack's expression was unreadable. "Safe?"
Safe? thought Sarah. There was nothing safe about Nisha. Jack wasn't going to fall for such a stupid promise, was she?
Nisha grinned. "My men and women like to fuck. You scratch that itch. I see no need to upset a good system."
Jack folded her arms, studying Nisha carefully. "And what exactly do you require from me?"
"Same as always. Who is sleeping with who, their friends and enemies, their movements...any plans in the works." Nisha paused. "What the Overboss' next move is, and any weaknesses I can exploit. Ditto for Gage."
"Fine."
"I heard you had a little spat with Porter today." Even from this distance, Sarah could hear the glee in Nisha's voice. "Sounded intense. Enough to make me think you aren't just acquaintances."
"The man is missing an eye and he stinks. I wouldn't touch him with a fucking sledgehammer."
Nisha laughed. It was cold and clipped, and she turned it off as quickly as it came. "See if you can't get in his good books again. Maybe press that advantage, offer your...services."
Jack stiffened where she stood. "I am not for sale."
"Seduce him then," Nisha said with a careless wave of her hand. "You've got the looks for it, and the fact you can't be bought will add a sense of achievement to his sad little life."
"So long as the Disciples stay in line at my brothel, you'll get what you want," Jack said finally.
"And Gage?"
"Fuck him. What's he done for me lately? Or anyone for that matter?" Jack folded her arms and scowled at Nisha. "But if your guys start any shit at my place, they'll be buried in the wasteland. Got it?"
"Only if you don't get caught," Nisha replied, sounding amused. "But we have a deal. I expect your obedience from now on." She gestured to the bodies on display. "I'm not someone to be crossed."
"Neither am I." Jack turned on her heel and strode from the room, her footsteps loud in the silence.
Sarah made it back to the marketplace in a haze, brain whirring, the stolen collar tucked under her shirt. Once the crowd dispersed, getting out of Fizztop Mountain had been relatively simple. On her way back she'd noticed Grace and Molly in the streets, loitering nearby as Jack exited the front gates of Nuka Town and into the wilderness.
Whose side was Jack really on?
She held tighter to the collar, her stomach churning. It was one thing to free the slaves and risk Gage and Mrs. Bossanova's lives in the process, but another to sell them out to Nisha completely. Had Jack been lying? Nisha's hints of previous meetings suggested otherwise, but then that meant freeing the slaves might not be Jack's goal at all. But then what was she up to? Had her fight with Gage made her so angry she was willing to make him Nisha's victim?
None of it made sense, and trying to pull apart the tangled strings gave Sarah a headache. She could tell Mrs. Bossanova about it of course, but then the plan to free the slaves might be ruined in the process. And whatever Jack was planning, Sarah didn't want her dead. But she didn't want Gage and Mrs. Bossanova falling into Nisha's hands either. The screams of Molly's victim still echoed around her skull—it was a desperate, pitiful sound, like an animal torn slowly apart by a predator.
She could say the pair of them deserved it for what they did to Oswald, but how long could she really cling to that? Sarah had seen his injuries for herself, and no matter how much she hated it, or how much she wished he'd lived, the fact of the matter was his death had been quick. There was nothing quick in the tone of Nisha's voice—if she had her way, she would draw it out slow, revelling in their pain until there was nothing left to cut. Only then she might kill them.
Sarah bowed her head as she pushed open the door to the market, feeling sick again. Could she really be a part of that?
Sarah presented the collar to Mr. Corbett without fanfare, her eyes to the floor, the screams still in her ears. He seemed to suspect something had happened, because he didn't comment, but silently passed her a bag, before clapping her shoulder and walking away.
She had completely forgotten her 'price' for going into Fizztop Mountain. Sarah peered into the bag.
It was filled with Dandy Boy Apples, a small Cappy toy placed carefully on the top.